


Morning Routine

by whitachi



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 14:44:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitachi/pseuds/whitachi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A very brief look into the average morning of one Rufus Shinra, Vice-President. It involves a cat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Routine

Rufus's alarm clock was set to go off at 6AM. He never hit the snooze or bothered to reset it, because even though he lingered in bed, grumpy at the new day's insistance on existing and desperate to sleep through it, he would always have a backup to assure he got out of bed. 

Some mornings, it came from the foot of the bed. This mostly relied on whether or not he'd kicked the covers off, leaving his bare feet exposed. In that case, he'd get what would start as a little tickle, work its way to a nuzzle, and eventually end up with a warm, sandpapery tongue exploring just how delicious the soles of his feet might be. 

And if that didn't work, Dark Nation would get serious. She had been known to take all hundred or so pounds of her body weight in a roll, a shove, or just a plain all-out sprawl on top of Rufus. A paw on his face usually got him up, but on certain stubborn days, she would need to poke and prod him with a tentacle for a while to get a response. 

If all else failed, she began to _mew_ , and Rufus couldn't keep fighting consciousness with that going on. 

"Daddy's up, hush," he'd mumble and she'd keep talking to him through the door of the bathroom, and on their way to the kitchen. It wasn't that she was eager for her breakfast--Rufus had had a high-tech feeding system set up, based on the same system that brewed him his coffee at 6:15 every morning. It was just part of their routine, for her to stay at his knee as he bleared bed-headdedly through the morning, looking for his coffee mug through smudged glasses. It was difficult for him to really get a handle on the start of the day if at least five minutes of it weren't spent with a hot cup of coffee in his hands and an extremely large mutated cat purring at his feet. 

"You're a good girl, Nate," he'd say to her, and scratch the nape of her neck with his toes. When she was in a particularly good mood, her tentacle would emerge from between her shoulderblades to wrap fondly around his ankle. It said something, Rufus figured, that this sort of thing made him happy, instead of seeming extremely weird. 


End file.
